


(if i worry you) just sigh

by katjh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katjh/pseuds/katjh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had positioned himself between Phil's legs and very gently pulled them further apart and his tongue, warm and wet and wonderful, was lapping at Phil's entrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(if i worry you) just sigh

**Author's Note:**

> For this kinkmeme prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17385.html?thread=38054121#t38054121

 The new team had done all they could, but they still weren't meshing properly and May was angry with Phil for tricking her back into field work. In fact, they were all fairly angry at Phil, even Fitz and Simmons, who didn't seem capable of anger.

Normally when Phil had days like these, he'd take a long hot shower, scrubbing away the frustrations of the day until he was clean inside and out and there was no hint of his struggles. But even a forty-minute shower couldn't wash away all his anxiety and frustration. Phil finally stepped out when the shower began to run cold, water dripping onto the bath mat. He grabbed his towel and dried off quickly, then pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. He planned on watching _Toddlers and Tiaras_ until he could relax enough to fall asleep.

 

"Phil, you home?"

Clint's voice rang through the apartment clearly, and all at once Phil was torn. On the one hand, Clint was home and safe. On the other hand, all Phil wanted to do was curl up on the couch and eat cereal straight from the box, not have to deal with Clint's emotions following a mission as well as his own.

"In the bedroom," he called, balling up the towel he'd used to dry off. Clint appeared in the doorway, looking tired but happy.

"Hey," Clint said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Phil forced himself to smile back. "How was the mission?" he asked, dropping the slightly damp towel onto the bed so he could go hug Clint. He'd drop it in the hamper later.

Clint kissed him on the cheek and said, "Boring. Coulda done it in my sleep. But we're still short on qualified agents, so I'm getting assigned to these cakewalks."

"Mm," Phil said, melting into the hug.

"And how was your day?" Clint asked, pulling away so he could unbutton his shirt.

Phil shrugged. Part of him wanted to just confess that it had sucked and his team probably didn't trust him anymore. All his hard work was practically for nothing and he'd have to fix it up somehow. “It was okay,” he said. Burdening Clint with these problems wasn't worth it.

Clint dropped his shirt on the floor, which he knew Phil hated, and stretched his arms above his head, the hem of his t-shirt rising to reveal a sliver of skin. “Uh-huh,” he said, and the look he sent Phil said he was so very not convinced that Phil's day was anywhere in the vicinity of “okay”. But before Phil could protest or explain, Clint was leading him over to the bed and saying, “Strip and lie down on your stomach.”

Phil's throat worked for half a second while his mouth tried to catch up with his brain. “What?” he choked out, looking into Clint's eyes for any hint of what he was thinking.

Clint just met his gaze evenly, expression not giving anything away, and repeated in a low, gentle voice, “Strip and lie down on your stomach, Phil.”

Phil looked searchingly at Clint for a second longer before finally surrendering. He pulled his worn t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor with just a hint of a wince, but he hesitated with his fingers at the waistband of his sweats.

“Phil, you trust me,” Clint said. He'd walked around behind Phil and was pressed against his back. Phil could feel Clint's body heat seeping through the thin cotton of the t-shirt that was all that kept their skin from touching. Clint's lips were just below Phil's left earlobe, his breath hot on Phil's neck, and his hands were on top of Phil's now, gentle and firm but not forcing his pants down.

“Yeah,” Phil said. He closed his eyes and pushed his pants and boxers down. They pooled around his ankles and he stepped out of them, eyes still shut, and slowly got on the bed. At some point, Clint had spread the towel out on top of their bedspread. It was still a little damp, but it was warm and comfortable. Phil folded his arms and rested his chin on the backs of his hands.

“Good,” Clint said. His voice was low and calming and just a little bit raspy. He settled down astride Phil and put his hands to work massaging the knots and kinks out of Phil's shoulders. Phil didn't even realize how tense he had been until he felt himself relaxing, the muscles shooting tiny darts of pain as Clint kneaded them. Phil could feel the tension bleeding away in his neck and upper back.

“Fuck, that's good,” Phil slurred. He whined just a bit as Clint's hands pulled away, but they were quickly back, slick and warm with some sort of lotion or oil.

“God, I don't even get this bad after three hours on the range,” Clint said, thumbs working at a particularly stubborn knot of muscle between Phil's shoulderblades. “You know the massage therapists can work on you too, right?”

Phil grunted something that probably could have been translated into words with a lot of effort. It felt _good_ , having his shoulders and neck massaged until they were loose and relaxed. Clint diligently kept kneading them until the last of the kinks were gone, and then he got off of Phil (and Phil absolutely did not make any sort of noise at the loss of comforting weight and heat on his lower back) and seemed to go away. Phil opened his eyes and raised his head slightly so he could look around and see where Clint had gone – _oh._ _Oh._

 

Clint had positioned himself between Phil's legs and very gently pulled them further apart and his tongue, warm and wet and wonderful, was lapping at Phil's entrance.

It was probably the most fantastic thing Phil had felt. He folded his knees under him and pressed upwards, eager for more. Clint gripped Phil's hips tightly and buried his face deeper, tongue circling around the tight ring of muscle and then _dipping inside oh god._

Phil's hands were clenched tightly into fists, his eyes shut tight and head bowed. There was a keening sound that he belatedly realized was coming from himself. Clint was licking at his hole gently, teasingly, like there was nothing else he'd rather be doing.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Phil gasped. His voice was tight and breathy and he could feel himself clenching desperately whenever Clint's tongue slipped inside him. It was all he could do to keep from fucking himself on Clint's tongue. He _needed_ it. His cock, hanging heavy between his legs, was leaking onto the towel despite not being touched. Clint's fingers were tightened hard enough to bruise the skin on Phil's hips, and he was lapping at Phil's hole eagerly now, tongue twisting and circling and doing fantastic things that Phil never knew he had wanted. It was woefully embarrassing when Clint pressed his tongue into his hole and lapped at the sides while one hand came to gently stroke Phil's balls and the other stretched him inside and Phil couldn't keep himself from coming with a shout, semen spurting all over his stomach and the towel. He wasn't sure if he'd whited out, but then he blinked his eyes open and he was lying on his side with Clint stroking the outside of his thigh, lips red and swollen and utterly debauched.

“Fuck,” Phil said. He sounded wrecked. His voice was hoarse and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Clint just smiled.

“I never... Never had that,” Phil said, blinking and trying to clear the fog from his brain. His ass felt so _empty_ and he needed it full.

“No?” Clint said. “Clearly we need to do it more often.”

_“Yes,”_ Phil said desperately. He reached for Clint's hand. “Fill me up, please. I want you in me _now._ ”

Clint glanced down at Phil's limp cock. “You sure?” he asked.

Phil nodded. He didn't know if he'd be able to get it up again so soon, but he needed Clint inside him and he just didn't care if he'd come again. It didn't matter. Clint grabbed a condom and more lube and slipped a couple of fingers into Phil's wet hole. He'd stretched him a little, but not enough. A brush of fingers over Phil's prostate had Phil's dick twitching and starting to harden again. He moaned, hips bucking to get some friction, but Clint stilled them with a firm hand and continued to stretch him until he could accommodate Clint's cock.

“Please just fuck me,” Phil moaned, fingers gripping the sheets tight. He needed Clint inside him already, fucking him, filling him up. And then Clint's fingers were gone and very quickly replaced by his cock, pressing in slowly and gently so Phil had time to adjust. Clint pulled him closer, kissing the back of Phil's neck and letting his fingers play over Phil's ribs until Clint was fully seated inside, and then his hips began to rock. He wrapped one hand around Phil's dick and pumped up and down, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and Phil was helpless, unable to do anything but writhe and buck his hips and moan while Clint fucked him open. It was gentle and cruel, the way he went slowly and made sure to kiss Phil and hold him close, one arm wrapped around him and resting on Phil's stomach. Each thrust hit Phil's prostate and he couldn't help but cry out in pleasure. Clint's thrusts became more erratic, his breathing harsh. The hand on Phil's cock stroked faster and then Clint's hips stuttered and stilled, Clint coming with just a quiet intake of breath, but he didn't stop his hand until Phil came again, a little more weakly, spilling his seed over Clint's fingers.

 

They lay on the soiled towel for a few minutes while Phil tried to clear the buzzing from his ears and Clint's breathing returned to normal. Then, slowly, Clint pulled out and tied off the condom. He got out of bed, which made Phil whine and reach out for him.

“I'm just getting a washcloth to clean you up,” Clint said, squeezing Phil's fingers comfortingly. He was back in just a couple of minutes with a warm washcloth which he used to wipe the drying cum off of Phil's skin.

“Whatever that was that you did,” Phil said, and his voice was raw and it cracked on the words so he cleared his throat and tried again, “whatever it was, you need to do it again.”

“Rimming?” Clint asked. He tugged at the towel underneath Phil until he moved enough for Clint to pull it out from under him. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Phil flushed. “It was – really good.”

Clint pressed a kiss to Phil's forehead. His breath smelled minty, like their toothpaste. “Anything to help you relax,” he murmured. He was gone again, most likely to put the towel in the wash.

 

Phil shut his eyes and curled up under the blanket. His muscles were all loose and relaxed and he felt... Calm. And loved.

He didn't hear Clint pad back into the room and shut off the lights, but he did notice when Clint slid into bed and wrapped himself around him and kissed Phil on the back of his neck. Phil didn't realize it was possible for him to relax even more, but he melted into Clint's touch and let out a satisfied sigh.

 

The problems with his new team could wait, because Clint knew how to give him everything he needed.


End file.
